Free The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder by Rachel McMillan Page B

see their daughters again, McCormick. What if it was my sister?”
    â€œThis isn’t about you, DeLuca.”
    â€œSir, you hired me because I was the only one willing to get into the mire of the city and exhume its dirt. Well, that’s what I am doing, still, when no one else will.”
    â€œFine. Well done. And now I need an article that won’t step on people’s toes,” said McCormick. He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “We lay off Montague for a while and we get back in his good books. That’s why you’re going to go see what’s going on in that housing project of his in the Ward. St. Joseph’s, I think it’s called.”
    Ray smirked. “Ten steps ahead of you. Moved in already. St. Joseph’s is a flophouse.”
    The side of McCormick’s mouth threatened to tilt into an approving smile, but he quickly ironed it out. “It’s a workingmen’s hotel.”McCormick coughed, not meeting Ray’s gaze. “Montague’s made affordable housing a priority, and we’re going to applaud him for it. Just get it done, will you?”
    Ray didn’t bother to respond as McCormick walked away. He slumped on his slat of a desk and rubbed his temples. An investigative piece that Montague wouldn’t find irksome. Should he try to paint St. Joseph’s as something other than the flophouse that he knew, from his own time there, it actually was?
    Blinking his bleary eyes into focus, he noticed an advertisement mock-up on the side of his desk. It was the advert for Herringford and Watts. The smell of lavender leaped to his mind, though his coat was across the room.
    Ray became more curious about those ladies the more he heard about them. And heard about them he had. Just last week, as he’d crossed from Viola’s cottage back to University Avenue, he’d overheard an exchange between ladies hanging out their laundry near the open water well in the Ward.
    â€œThey don’t charge nearly as much as the man my husband mentioned,” one had chirped.
    â€œSometimes they don’t charge at all!” said another.
    Ray had inched closer, removing his hat.
    â€œThat can’t be,” said a woman bouncing a baby on her hip.
    â€œLucy got their card from Mary, who got it from one of the girls at the shirtwaist factory!”
    â€œWomen belong in the home,” said a woman with a sour voice, “not galloping around Toronto in pants! Sticking their noses where only the police should be.”
    â€œThe police can’t help! Ah, but women have intuition! They can understand and sympathize. I don’t want some police detective investigating my private business.”
    â€œThe tall blonde one canvasses at Simcoe Street,” a woman said conspiratorially. “Makes sure that if you step off the train, you leave with all of your possessions. Last week, they found that one of the track workers was pocketing goods from the luggage compartments.She caught him, gave him a piece of her mind, and dragged him over to a traffic cop.”
    This anecdote in particular had coaxed a smile up the side of Ray’s face.
    â€œThe handsome traffic cop,” added another. “The one on the King beat!”
    The stories had trickled and tripped over each other. Now, snapped out of his memories, Ray turned the advertisement over in his fingers. McCormick wanted a new story? Fine. He was going to make those bachelor girls the talk of Toronto.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Detective work brings out the best and worst of every person, place, and thing one can imagine. An opulent building may be exposed as a den of iniquity. Beneath the elegant façade of a wealthy aristocrat may beat the black heart of a killer.
    Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace, M.C. Wheaton
    C racker jacks, Jem, this will be a cakewalk!” *
    The girls were on their way to the King Edward Hotel, where they intended to pay Brigid a visit.